Ignoring the sudden ripple of excited shouts and pointing his arrival elicited, Seregil rode to join Nysander and Thero on the fringe of the noble ranks.
Thero raised an eyebrow. "Alec's not with you?"
Seregil tensed immediate, forever on guard against some thinly veiled barb from the younger wizard.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Nysander observed quietly. "This is not an aspect of Skalan society of which I am particularly proud. The great pity is that it is so effective a deterrent."
Nysander was looking more careworn than ever this morning.
In spite of the irrefutable evidence, the wizard was still finding it difficult to accept Barien's disloyalty. Seregil knew him well enough to understand that it went deeper than mere disillusionment; as an intimate of both the Queen and the Viceregent, Nysander was reproaching himself for having been blind to a plot of such magnitude. Unfortunately, this was not the time or place to discuss the matter.
Maintaining a somber demeanor, Seregil politely rebuffed efforts by several curious nobles to draw him into conversation. Instead, he listened with a certain sardonic pleasure to the speculations being bantered about nearby.
Lords and ladies who'd feasted at the Viceregent's own table within the last fortnight now spoke darkly of suspicious circumstances suddenly recalled, or turns of conversation now construed as suspicious or telling.
The crowd grew increasingly restless as the dull sky gradually brightened toward noon. In response, blue-uniformed riders of the City Watch began to make their presence more visible.
Chilled and disgruntled, Seregil shifted in the saddle. "The procession should be in sight by now."
"He's right. Shall I scry for them, Nysander?" offered Thero.
"Perhaps we —" The older wizard paused, shading his eyes as he gazed back up the road toward the city. "No, I doubt it will be necessary."
A lone rider had come into view, galloping hard in their direction. As he came closer, they could see that he wore the colors of a Queen's Herald.
"Bloody hell, here comes someone to spoil the fun for sure!" someone shouted.
The assessment seemed a likely one and the crowd parted with a collective grumble to let the rider through.
Dismounting, the herald climbed onto the gibbet platform, unrolled a scroll, and in a loud, clear voice proclaimed, "By order of Queen Idrilain the Second, the ritual execution of Barien i Zhal is postponed. There will be no dismemberment today. All hail the Queen's mercy!"
Jeers and catcalls went up from the thrill seekers, but most of the nobles turned their mounts for town with expressions of relief.
"What's this?" muttered Seregil.
"I cannot imagine," replied Nysander. "I suspect, however, that a summons from the Queen may await me upon my return."
Nysander was correct. Hastening to the Palace, he found Idrilain and Phoria waiting for him in the private audience chamber. Idrilain was seated, with Phoria at stiff attention at her left side.
Both women looked very grim.
"Sit down, Nysander. There is something I wish you to hear," Idrilain said curtly, motioning him to the only other chair in the small chamber. "Phoria, repeat to Nysander what you have told me."
"Lord Barien was not a Leran," Phoria began, her voice flat as a sergeant's at daily report. "He died believing that he had unwittingly aided them, however, through commerce he and Lord Teukros had with the forger Alben."
"Then he recognized Alben, that night at the inquisition?" Nysander asked, recalling Barien's strange expression.
Phoria shook her head. "No, he'd never met the man or heard his name. The connection was all through Teukros, who'd handled all the dealings with him."
"It all started three years ago. Lord Teukros was involved in that massive land speculation in the western territories which failed so miserably."
"I recall the scandal," said Nysander. "I had no idea Teukros had any part in it."
"He was ruined," Phoria told him. "In the end he owed several millions to the man who'd backed the whole scheme, a Lord Herleus."
"Herleus?" Nysander searched his memory for a face to go with the name.
"Killed during a boar hunt later that same year," Idrilain informed him. "After his death, some evidence was found suggesting he'd been a Leran sympathizer, though nothing could be proven at the time."
"Ah, I begin to see."
"Teukros was ruined," Phoria continued. "Even Barien hadn't the ready funds to save him, and Herleus would not be reasoned with. Barien told me he'd advised Teukros to accept his shame and flee the country, and at first Teukros agreed. A day later, however, he came back to his uncle with a plan to save the family name."
"And this plan involved the forging of certain documents which, after the Queen herself, only Barien had access to?"
Phoria nodded. "Apparently Teukros had gone to plead with Herleus one last time. It was then that Herleus suggested that Barien's position would allow him to divert treasury gold from the Gold Road shipments. Herleus introduced Teukros to Alben, who could forge the necessary papers. The long and the short of it is, poor Barien couldn't bear to see his spineless scoundrel of a nephew disgraced and agreed to it all. They needed my help in rerouting the gold and, for Barien's sake, I agreed. We both regretted it after, but we thought the whole affair was over and done until Alben turned up in this business with Lord Seregil."
Nysander stroked his short beard thoughtfully. "I must hear the details of the plan, of course, but I am still uncertain as to how Barien, whom you say knew nothing of Alben, made the connection between this creature and his nephew during the confession."
Phoria sighed heavily. "Alben spoke of the White Hart. That was the name of the vessel the stolen gold was put onto at Cirna."
"Ah, and as high commander of the cavalry detachments assigned to guard such shipments, your approval was needed to reroute the gold. As was Barien's to alter the treasury manifest. Both of you needed to know the name of the vessel, if little else."
Phoria met his eye stonily. "I should have refused. I should have stopped him. I offer no excuse for my actions."
Idrilain took a rolled document from the side table and passed it to Nysander. "This is Barien's will, dated three years ago. You'll find he left his entire fortune and holdings to the Skalan treasury. It's more than adequate repayment."
Slapping a hand down on the table, she rose to pace the room. "As if I wouldn't have forgiven him or tried to help! That wonderful, damnable old-fashioned honor of his destroyed him and cost me the most valuable councilor I had, not to mention the trust of my heir apparent. And all on account of a young idiot not worth the price of the rocks to crush him!"
Phoria flinched visibly. "I shall relinquish all claim to the throne, of course."
"You will do nothing of the sort!" shouted Idrilain, rounding on her. "With a war brewing and Lerans in the back pantry, the last thing this country needs is the uproar of an abdication. You made a mistake—a stupid, prideful mistake—and now you've seen the consequences. As the future queen of this land, you will accept responsibility for your actions and put the needs of Skala before your own. As the high commander of my cavalry forces, you will remain at your post and carry out your duties. Is that clear?"
White-faced, Phoria dropped to one knee and raised a fist to her chest in salute. "I will, my Queen!"
"Oh, get up and finish your report." Turning away in disgust, Idrilain dropped back into her chair.
Rising, Phoria resumed her rigid stance. "As far as I know, the gold was delivered to the Hart as planned. Barien never mentioned the matter to me again until the night of his death."